


I'm Gonna Show You Crazy

by WintersPhoenix



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DC Cinematic Universe, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Suicide Squad (2016), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Awesome Darcy Lewis, BAMF Darcy Lewis, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Disregards Canon, EWE, First Crossover Like This, First In The Fandom, First Meetings, Frequent Kidnapping Cards are a Thing, Fuckyeahdarcylewis Drabble-a-thon 2017, Gen, Humor, I Don't Even Know, Jared Leto's Joker, Let's mix it up, Like only humor, Mentions of Blood, My First Work in This Fandom, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Not Beta Read, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Please Read at Personal Discretion, Rare Pairings, SO MUCH HUMOR, Screwed up timelines, The Author Regrets Nothing, What Have I Done, What Was I Thinking?, You Have Been Warned, but not really a drabble anymore, depictions of violence, enjoy, haha - Freeform, mentions of gore, not very descriptive
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2018-12-15 19:45:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11812926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WintersPhoenix/pseuds/WintersPhoenix
Summary: A new, confused wave of fear washes over her.Holy shit.The Joker likes her.Now what?OR: the one where the motherfucking Joker of Gotham kidnaps our favorite fandom bicycle and kinda ends up falling just that little bit in love with her.





	1. Installment 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, all! Thank you for taking a chance on this strange, never been done before plot/story! Honestly, I pretty much know next to nothing about DC and I personally didn't like Suicide Squad, but I saw potential with Jared Leto's Joker. From my view point, he didn't seem as dark as others have portrayed him in the past, still as madly insane, but just not as dark. I am perfectly fine if you don't agree, it's just my personal point of view. 
> 
> Now, please enjoy! Let me know what you think and if you find any mistakes as this is not beta read.

* * *

 

          She’s tied up on a cold, hard chair, again. Basically, she’s been abducted. Again. _Again,_ for hell’s sake. Honest to Loki, Darcy has to think a moment, this is what—the 7th kidnapping in as many months? Is this actually going to become a monthly thing? Like her period? Cuz, that’s just shitty enough! Seriously. She’s even gagged and, _and_ , has a bag over her head. Come on, people, a gag and a fucking bag o’er the head? Overkill much? Honestly, which stupidass goon thought that both was a good idea? Whoever it is, A.) they even screwed up with the gag because it’s really loose and kinda already falling out of her mouth and B.) when she gets out of here, she’s got a special extra bit of whoopass reserved just for them now.

          In the middle of thinking about all the kickass she’s going to unleash upon her captor, a light suddenly fills her vision with a dull hue as the bag is lifted off her head, and she can finally breathe “fresh” (like, who knows how fresh it really is) air again. Fuck yeah, fresh air! Then the gag is fully removed, and she shudders at the taste it leaves behind. As she greedily sucks in the freshness, she blinks, letting the world around her wink into focus. Thank _someone_ godly that she’d decided to wear her contacts today, at least with those she can clearly see the asswipes that decided to abduct her.

          As she blinks to get used to the suddenness of being able to see again, the world around her comes into focus. She’s in a plain, unexciting room with brick walls and cement flooring with a ceiling that’s just as boring as the rest of the place. In front of her sits a table with a lamp on it and another chair, facing her. The set up makes her feel like she’s in one of those interrogations in a movie. Only two guards stand by the door, which is the only exit. Not even a damn window with bars. Well damn. The guards are inside the room so she can at the very least annoy the fuck out of them.

          “Alright, who decided a bag on my head _and_ a gag over my mouth was truly necessary? Seriously, my dudes, not cool. That was like, _Kidnapping for Evil Minions 101_. Sure, you want to be an asshole, but would it like go everything you stupidly stand for to at least do it correctly? One? Okay. Both? Overkill, man, way overkill. So, which one of you did it?” she asks as she stares down Thug 1 and Thug 2. They share an incredulous look before going back to pretending they can ignore her. “Hey, by the way, which one of you can I get to stamp or sticker or sign or just fucking _mark_ by Frequent Kidnapper’s Card?”

          This time their eyebrows actually go up as they look at her with such a surprised look, not at all believing her.

          She shrugs. It’s totally a thing honestly. The team had joked about it for the longest time before actually starting one for her. Yes, it was totally ridiculous when it was made, and maybe, probably unfeeling to anyone who was a bystander, but by joking about her many kidnappings, she’s found that it actually helps keep her from being overwhelmed by total fear. Just like the way her snark and sass helps her keep her wits about her when she’s in the middle of an abduction, like now, for instance. Every 3 kidnappings mean that the labs are shut down, the gym is emptied and locked, no missions, and basically no one is busy so that the whole Avengers and Co™ could have a movie day with movies of her choice in the home theater. It means a chill day so that they can all pretend that they’re perfectly safe, together and that everything is still fine in the world.

          “Also, who are you guys anyway? If you’re those hydra bastards, for the last fucking time: I don’t know _jackshit_ about what’s happening in the labs. Not Tony’s. Not Bruce’s. Not Helen’s. Not even Jane’s! I don’t even work there anymore! I work in the…” she trails off as she sees the door open. Then a man walks in and her blood runs ice cold when she figures out just who decided to kidnap her. She freezes, unsure how to act now. Now, the danger is real because if he doesn’t like her, she really, really could die. He doesn’t need her for leverage against her people, he probably just did it for shits and giggles.

          A confident swagger oozes from every step he takes as he walks further into the room. He knows he’s in charge and he very much owns it. Shock green hair gelled back from his face. His bright purple jacket, which hangs low in the back and is split to look like a swallow’s tale, is unbuttoned and left wide open to expose the plethora tattoos painting his chest, his various tattoos on proud display against his pale as hell skin. Bright red lips pop against his face like blood against snow, hiding metal rimmed teeth that she knows are there and twisted into an annoyed frown.

          It’s the goddamned, motherfucking Clown King of Gotham City.

          The Joker himself.

          As she watches him waltz over to the empty chair across from her, Darcy is unsure how to act, seriously unsure. After all, you know…the fucking shit? Since _when_ exactly was she, Darcy Adeola Lewis on the fucking _Joker’s_ shit list? Sure, hydra (fuckers don’t deserve the capitalization even in her own head) makes sense. She rubs elbows and knees and other things and actually lives with the Avengers and other people on their list of Top 20 People to Kill for World Domination. The Joker though? She’s only been to Gotham maybe, just maybe, once or twice since leaving that place when she was a kid! What kind of beef could he _possibly_ have with her? She’s never met before this, not even once! Honestly, though, how does she play this? Does she plead and act all innocent (which she totally is as far as she knows) or does she act like nothing phases her (a.k.a. her inner wishful thinking Black Widow mode)?

          She definitely opts to try for the second one.

          What comes out though, is word vomit. And not even of the snark and sass variety. Just plain ass ole’ word vomit. Staring at his face and exposed chest under the purple jacket and actual facts real, human, not Asgardian or serum-made, rippling pectorals, she says the literal very first thing that comes to mind.

          “Well shit, you’re not supposed to be hot, let alone this attractive.” _Seriously, Darce?_ she thinks. _Filters are supposed to be a thing! Especially brain-to-mouth ones! Now you are in deep,_ deep _shit—_

          Her inner rant is cut off by laughter. Loud, near hysterical, unrestrained, raucous, deep laughter. Laughter pouring from not just any old idiot, but from the Clown King himself. His head is thrown back with wild choruses of laughter spilling from his lips and shaking his entire frame. He laughs and laughs and laughs for at least ten minutes straight, insanity dripping from the sound with each breath he takes. By the time he’s calmed down, she’s got a small, nervous smile curling at her lips.

          Well, whatever happens, at least she got the Joker to laugh without any physical or psychological or emotional pain on anyone’s end! Can she go home now? Please and thank you.

          When he’s done letting out wave after wave of guffaws, he turns his wild, excited, and, dare she think it, very unhinged gaze on her, eye wide and bright and trained intently on her. His lips are spread and split into an almost unnaturally wide grin. He slaps both hands down on the table, splaying his fingers wide, as he leans close to her face, leaving only a mere 6 inches between their faces. A spine shivering fear races down her body as she meets and holds his crazed gaze.

          It’s silent for a moment. Then another. Then he speaks and the words take her b surprise. “I like you!” The first time he says it, it’s a whisper quiet to the point that she wonders if her mind isn’t just being desperate enough to sprout positive bullshit. Then he says it again, louder and slower. “I. Like. You.”

          A new, confused wave of fear washes over her. _Holy shit. The Joker likes her._

          Now what?

          “Well, that’s just coolsies. I mean, I am pretty fantastic, if I do say so myself! Now, there’s a very important matter we must discuss,” she rambles. He nods very seriously, which strongly contradicts the intrigue glimmering behind amusement in his eyes.

          He sits back into his chair, leaving his forearms on the veneer of the table and lacing his fingers together. He arches an almost nonexistent eyebrow. “Oooh, and what exactly would that be, sweetcheeks?”

          _Getting the fuck out of here and just why I’m even here to begin with_ , she snaps in her head. What actually comes out, though, is this: “Why I got a gag _and_ a bag on my head. I mean, come one! I was totally not even conscious for like…89.9% of the way here, and the part I was awake for…totally doesn’t matter because I have no idea where here is!” Again, apparently her filter hasn’t been fixed yet and her conscience is way more concerned about the gag/bag over the head thing than it is her actually being kidnapped. She should really get on that soon. “Really, though, one or the other usually works just fine!”

          “And this would be expert advice coming from you, Tootsies, because…” He’s eyeing her like he’s a scientist and she’s his latest experiment until the next one comes along, head tilted with clear intrigued and a faux frown pulling at his lips.

          It’s either stupidity or bravado or a cocktail of both (probably both. Both. Both is good.) but she somehow musters up the strength or idiocy to roll her eyes dramatically heavenwards at the easily pissed off man. “Well, yeah.” _Duh_ , is left very unsaid by sorta really implied. “This is like the…” She actually counts in her head. “7Th kidnapping in just as many months. Seriously, I already deal with the Red Monsoon each month and now kidnappings too? Really, universe? Oh! By the way, before I forget, mind stamping or signing or just like marking my Frequent Kidnapper’s Card? Thanks, some bunches, buddy.”

          “Oooh, you have a card? Like one of those things like at a coffee shop?” Surprise and childlike interest actually sound real in his tone.

          “Mmhm! Yep! Man, my team is awesomesauce. They’re so fanfuckingtastic!” Her voice sounds light and airy. The fuck?  Since when did she learn to keep her voice this steady and nonchalant when talking to a psychopath? They sound like they’re talking about the latest Starbucks drink! She’s even leaning back in her seat as comfortably as the situation and the seat allows. Her and the Joker! Okay.

          Okay, she can do this. At least it’s definitely shit loads better than being tortured for info. This she can do.

          He’s got a thoughtful look on his face. “Hmm, would you say the card has some actual benefits? You know, I just hate it when cards say deals like ‘buy this many whatevers and get only _half_ off the next one.’ Nope. I need all or nothin’, sugarplum. I don’t like half-assed shit or the assholes offering the half-way stuff,” he says resolutely with a little nod.

          She can totally roll with this. “Hey, man, me too!” She even adds a very vehement nod. “I only ever go for the all-in deals. I don’t like when they skimp on a sale, cuz after tax, it’s like the sale didn’t even exist in the first place. Nope, _my_ card has got the whole wham, bam, shebang. I don’t do half-assed shit.”

          He leans back in his chair and taps his chin with a finger, looking up, as though he were actually deep in thought. “So, would you say you get kidnapped often then? After all, you do have a card…speaking of which, I’d just _love_ to sign it!” He flashes her another megawatt smile as he draws out _love_.

          “Yay! Coolsies! Two more and I get to make Clinton and Steven watch all the Barbie movies I want! Fucking hell, yeah!” Truly, if her arms weren’t tied up and he wasn't _the_ Joker, she’d totally be askin’ for a fist bump right now. Of course, reality decides to, you know, be reality, and her arms _are_ tied up and he really is the Joker. So, instead, she just settles for a victorious beaming of the lips and a righteous upward head tilt.

          “Oh, Barbie! I love her! I just wanna rip off her little blonde head and put a bullet right in her tummy, you know!” he giggles.

          “Well, why do you think I’m making them my chosen films for a _mandatory_ movie marathon?” She even does a little shrug. Honestly, she actually likes the older, classic Barbie films, like _Barbie in the Nutcracker_ and _Barbie of Swan Lake_ and a couple others, but she knows that Clinton has seen the films more times than he can count because of his kids and finds them truly strange and annoying, and Steven would just be so confused.

          “Ooh, I like the way you think! I’m just so glad I told the boys to kidnap you. Who knew you’d be so much fun?” Another giggle.

          “Hey, by the way, while we’re on the topic, why did you kidnap me in the first place? Kidnapping isn’t usually your style…? Isn’t that usually wham, bam, you’re killed dead now, Ma’am? Besides, how’d I even make it onto your shit list? Did I accidentally spit on your sidewalk or something? Cuz I haven’t even been in Gotham in _ages_ , and I didn’t think you really cared much for other cities.”

          “Well, you know, I just felt like…broadening my horizons a bit.” A crazed, glassy expression is raging in his laugh and the large, sweeping arm movements. “Besides, you’re Bruce Wayne’s little bastard, secret cousin that no one but a few people even knows exists, so it’s not too much of a stretch, is it?”

          “How’d you figure that?” Honestly, she’s kinda impressed now.

          “Dearie, you’re looking at a genius!” Okay, so? That’s normal for her. “Couple years ago, around May I think, I got bored of…well, whatever it was that I doing and…went digging for some dirt on ole’ Brucie, mostly for shits and giggles. Found your file but didn’t feel like doing anything ‘till now.” Okay, so it happened during the S.H.I.E.L.D leak, pretty understandable really.

          “Oh, okay.” Really, how else are you supposed to react to learning something like that, especially from a psychopath who thought kidnapping you was their idea of some funsies.

 <>()<>

From there, they get to talking about so many different topics, from the joys of toast with butter and cinnamon to the killjoy pet peeve of too many ice cubes in an iced beverage. They both agree whole heartedly that yes, it may be iced, but they don’t want it to _be_ ice with a smidgeon of beverage on the side.

          Then he does the strangest thing, something she hadn’t really expected from him. Even with her running list of unexpected shit she thinks he might pull. Something that makes near absolute no sense at all, the only sense being that he’s insane and unexpected is his thing. Just not this.

          He lets her go.

          Unharmed past the rope burn on her wrists.

          And he even really does sign her card.

          After only a half an hour, 30 measly minutes, he lets her go free.

          He even drops her off at some not-so-sleazy and questionable street in his Lamborghini, lets her sit in the fucking comfy front seat.

          “And that’s literally it. I don’t know why he let me go. What else do you wanna know? Can I get a cookie now?” she asks as she returns to her attempts at baking. Looking at the morsels, she can admit that they’re actually hers and be proud of it. They don’t look half bad really. Try as she might, Darcy never has been a very good baker or cook, but cookies have always tended to come out alright, according to literally anyone who’s ever had her cooking before. Oh, and crisps, like the fruit kind with cut up fruit and buttery, sugary crumble on top kind. Those aren’t too bad coming from her either.

          A glance over her shoulder at the various Avengers and Co™ assembled around the kitchen island tells her that they’re not buying her tale in the least. She shrugs her shoulders as she nabs the white chocolate raspberry cookies calling her name. If they don’t believe her, then that’s their personal choice. Sometimes the truth is more ludicrous than any lie even she could come up with, and apparently, this is one of those times. That’s really just fine with her. While they stew and over analyze every detail of her story, she’s definitely not going to argue. Let them. Just let her eat her damn cookies in peace. She’s earned it and she will fight anyone who says otherwise.

 <>()<>

It takes a few days, but they finally accept that she’s fine, really, well and truly fine. Not even nightmares. Once they realize and actively accept that, they begin to back off a bit. Even Nat and Clinton ease off the Looks, the ones that are overanalyzing about everything she does to make certain he didn’t hurt her and that she’s not just lying to keep from talking about something. She knows they worry about her just as much as she does about them, especially after they get back from a mission, but this time she really is fine and can mean it.

          And life goes on just like it always does.

          Later, during yet another attack on the city, if Darcy sees a purple Lamborghini in the corner of her eye, accompanied by a shock of bright green, and a bullet shooting down her attackers, then at least she knows she’s got a new friend and she knows she’ll never have to worry about the villain of Gotham City ever again.

          The King has his subjects under tight rule and doesn’t like when people hurt his people.

* * *

 


	2. Installment 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Okay, so before you start reading, I just want to warn you that, while I don't personally think that it's too gory, there is some blood and death described in this chapter. I don't think it's too bad, but please read at your own discretion, as everyone's level of comfort varies with each person. Thank you!
> 
> Inspiration sparked by bval_1  
> Thanks, love!

 

* * *

            Well, damn. Again. Seriously again. Honestly, the whole “well, fuck, I’ve been kidnapped again” thought should not be a regular, normal first thought that enters her head more than 0% of the time when regaining consciousness. Of all the many, many things in her life to become a regular thing, _why_ for fuck’s sake did it _have_ to be getting kidnapped monthly? Because of course, it had to be kidnapping. At the very, _very_ least, she knew just which asswipes did it this time! Honestly! Did these fuckwads _ever_ learn anything? Fucking hydra! She doesn’t know jackshit, and she is so fucking tired of this boring kidnapping shitstorm!

            Her face throbs where she’s just been backhanded by the random asshole goon standing in front of her only a moment ago. She’s pretty sure that, given time, her face, or at least half of it, will be spotted black and blue and ugly yellow with bruising thanks to the other bastards who have already hit her, in addition to the fucker who just did. Well, at least she’s giving back as good as she can, given her current state of being tied up to yet another chair. (Really, no surprise on her part there.)

            One of the goons is totally sobbing their eyes out with big, fat tears of regret after her lengthy lecture of _just_ how ashamed their dear mommas would be if they found out what absolutely repulsive shitholes their children have become, providing that their mommas don’t condone and share the same values as their spawn, which at least one of them doesn’t if the crying goon means anything. That trick generally works on at least one asshole every time! Another loser hydra agent is like only two seconds away from joining their sobbing buddy. As far as she can tell, she’s also pretty sure she’s really close to getting the mother fucker who just smacked her to start crying too. (Join the party, twat! Only assholes invited! Pretty sure they’re gonna make T-shirt too!) Now, whether that be from fear of her rescuers (because any rescuer she’s had will just be so glad to rain hellfire down on this place once she’s out of it) or just out of plain old regret of his life choice to not be an actual semi-decent human with even a smidgeon of morality…eh, she’s really not too picky at this point. So long as he starts tearing up, she’ll take what she can get. Outside the room she’s currently in, somewhere, Darcy is really quite confident that another random goon, who she’s fried right in the Royal Jewels with her Stark-upgraded, strong enough to take down a full-fledged Asgardian (let’s just say that wherever he is, Fandral is still wary of her), taser, is cupping his now no-longer sire-rearing bits and mourning them greatly. So, at least there’s that too.

            “Miss Lewis, you need only tell us what we wish to know, and this will all be over,” Asswipe Number: Who Gives a Fuck says, tiredness bleeding from his eyes on his otherwise attempted and failed blank face and desperation for her cooperation lacing his tone. She wishes she could smirk. Yeah, her face is hurting like a bitch, but she’s pretty sure that he wants this to be done with for his sake way more than as a bargaining chip for her.

            Instead, she settles for rolling her eyes and spitting at his eyes. “First, it’s Ms. or Mix Lewis! M-s-period or m-i-x! I won’t bother spewing a beautiful feminist rant that’s already in my mind and ready to be shared since it would only be a waste of oxygen and carbon dioxide and energy on your worthless ears! Second, I don’t have your fucking information! And even if I did, like hell I’d give it to the likes of fuckers like you! I’m pretty sure I’d sooner die than that!” she retorts.

            “Well, now, toots, we wouldn’t want that, now would we? No, siree!” a new, familiar voice drawls from the doorway. Her attacker whips around, only to be met with a bullet to the face. He drops down deader than a doorknob. “You weren’t kiddin’, huh, sweetheart? You really do have enough kidnappings to warrant that Card. By the way, need that marked?”

            She looks up, slightly unsure as to whether she should be relieved or not at seeing the face of her rescuer. Honestly, she’d half-hoped that after that one time three weeks ago he’d forget about her. Apparently, no luck because standing before her is the Joker, decked out in a silky looking, deep purple button up and a pair of nice black slacks. His hair is even slicked back all nice and neat. Actually, he kinda looks all dapper. Huh. Nice. In one hand, he holds the gun that he’s just fired while the other one hangs empty at his side. From her vantage point, a few various golden rings adorn his fingers. Around his torso wraps a gun holster, a few extra mags strapped into it.

            “Yep! I so totally told you!” she says as the Joker gets to work getting her out of her bonds, starting at her feet, which are clichély tied to the legs of the damned chair. “And yep, they wouldn’t sign it. I even asked nicely, the fucktards!”

            “Hmm, I see. Know where it is now?” He even has a contemplative frown pulling at his lips.

            “With my stuff, I think. I’ve taken to keeping a spare in my pocket, though, since I keep getting kidnapped even more frequently.” Once her hands are free, she digs her card out and hands it to the green-haired clown.

            “He takes it and then marches over to one of the cowering hydra asswipes. “You see this card? You’re going to fucking sign this card just like the pretty lady wants, capiche, buddy?”

            “Y-you’re the Joker! What did she do to warrant you coming for her?” the sniveling coward manages to ask in between pathetic hiccupped sniffs.

            “That…is absolutely none of your beeswax, boy. Now, I’m not going to ask so… _nicely_ again. Mark the damn card!” the Joker roars.

            For some unobtainable reason, the hydra goon somehow grows the beginnings of a pair and declines with a loud “no.” Of course, this teeny, tiny act of stupid bravery only gets him the Joker’s bullet lodged in his brain in the blink of an eye, blood pouring from the fresh wound in a steady little trickle.

            “Wrong!” the Kind of Gotham hisses with delight and then _tsk, tsks_. Then he wets his finger with the dead man’s blood and then dots a bit of the red stuff on her card where the Avengers usually mark once they’ve made sure that she’s fine. Okay, well, that’s just _ew_ on more than a couple levels. Next, the Joker stands back up and saunters over to Darcy, card outstretched as an offering towards her. She pockets the card, trying oh so hard not to think about the blood staining it. Seriously, he’s like a cat, but twenty thousand times worse in that he’s killed a human instead of a little mouse or something like that and is giving it to her as a gift, and if she rejects it, she might be the next thing he decides to kill, and he’s kinda the one in charge in this…whatever it is between them.

            “So, what do you say we blow this shitstand, doll? I want some ice-cream. Do you want some?” he asks, holding out his pale as fuck hand. “My boys will take care of everything from here.”

            Darcy contemplates the question for a moment before easily taking his offered hand in hers. “Well, fuck it! Why the hell not? I want some ice-cream now. Sure, let’s get some!” she answers, running some last bits of adrenaline.

            With a deranged, delightedly wide grin, he leads her out of the room and down a series of hallways. Around them, a bunch of his men, all dressed up in animal costumes and letting out magazine after magazine of bullets into any hydra agent they come across, surround them as they walk. Okay, so now she’s got a strange ass posse… ice cream. Just focus on the ice cream she’s gonna get and most definitely _not_ on the bodies falling dead all around her, even if they are just pathetic hydra agents. Ice cream. Ice cream and…the Joker’s arm around her shoulder? Okay. Sure. That too. Taking the opportunity and hoping that he won’t mind too much, she burrows into his side and tries to hide her face in his shoulder, doing her best to block the sight of death and gore all around her. In response, he simply hugs her tighter to his side. Oh, okay, good. He doesn’t mind.

            After about ten minutes of making their way out of wherever the hell they’re at, the group finally comes to the exit. Outside, she finally comes out from where she’d hidden her head against his shoulder to find three vans waiting for them. He helps her into one before climbing in after her and plants himself right next to her. Only one more person hops in after them, a tall, well-built white man who looks to be maybe in his mid-to-late thirties or even very early forties, donning a semi-formal suit but loaded with guns. In one of his hands, though, he holds her purse. Her purse! Yes! Fucking score!

            “Boss, I got the lady’s purse and stuff like you asked,” he says, handing it to the Joker, who in turn hands it right to her.  
            “Excellent. Well, then, Johnny, if you’ve got all her stuff and anything else you or the boys have deemed worthy of saving, we’re done here. Light ‘em up, boys!” the maniac beside Darcy says and lets out a loud, uncontrolled cackle as the doors to the back of the can are closed. With a screech of tires and the revving of an engine, they’re tearing away, the sound of an explosion filling up the world behind them.

            She rummages around in her purse to see what’s left after those hydra suckers went through it. Surprisingly, or maybe not so surprisingly, nearly all her stuff is still there…probably because it’s actually that special time of the month for a person with womanly bits to get a visit from fucking Aunt Flow and the first visible thing inside her bag is a bunch of tampons and pads…super totally scary stuff to the cowardly men of hydra. Her phone isn’t in there, but that was on her at the time of the abduction and she’d expected that to be gone anyway. Her wallet is even still there, though! She looks up with a bright beam at the man sitting across from her and the Joker.

            “Holy shit, man., you’re the best! You’re totally awesome!” she exclaims, sending a tired, but very happy smile his way. “I’m Darcy Lewis, by the way. Hi!” She even waves.

            He lets his lips curl upwards before getting a frown on his face when he glances towards the clown king at her side. He coughs a bit and clears his throat. “Yeah, I know who you are, everyone does. You’re the boss’s girl. I’m Johnny Frost, and it was no problem getting your stuff, ma’am.”

            She has to raise her eyebrows at being called the “boss’s girl.” She is no one’s girl, just her own. Besides, she’s really quite certain that she’d know if she were dating the Joker. He’d totally have told her. Plus, she’s not really sure either of them feels _that way_ towards one another. She’s only met the dude once! If it were literally anyone else, she’d correct them, but she’s still actually kinda scared of the Joker and still doesn’t actually know where she stands with him. He _is_ still the Joker, mad wackodo who likes killing people if he gets an answer he doesn’t like or just for shits and giggles, not giving a rat’s ass about anyone else.

            She leans in as though telling him a secret. “Well, Johnny, don’t tell the others, but you’re totally my favorite,” she faux whispers, accentuating the last word with an exaggerated wink.

            “Don’t worry, ma’am, your secret is safe with me,” he dares to whisper back teasingly, a smile tugging at his lips even as she can actually _feel_ the Joker glare at him.  
            From there, it takes about half an hour for them to reach their destination…wherever the hell that is. When they finally get there, she’s exhausted and pretty ready to drop, nice and comfortable in that beautiful, fuzzy world between being asleep and almost awake. Her adrenaline high had pretty much left her a few minutes into the ride. Now, she’s even to the point of exhaustion where she’s half sprawled all over the Joker’s shoulder, because sometime between the start of the ride and now she’d ended up like this. What? Kidnapping tires Darcy the fuck out and if the Joker wanted to hurt her, he’d have done it already, so she can be tired and show it around him now. Besides, it’s not her fault he makes a rather great pillow and his hand running through her hair is simply fantastic. She’s just being opportunistic. Who knew the crime King of Gotham was actually, surprisingly really kinda a great pillow? Huh, well now she knows and is totally reaping the benefits of this little factoid. Sure, her face is throbbing like a biatch and a bit, like really, swollen, but she’s comfy. The adrenaline rush from earlier has now completely faded and she is now very ready to slip away into the land of dreams. She’s so tired, in fact, that the Joker even hands her stuff to Johnny so that he can pick her up when it’s time to disembark, snaking one arm under her knees and wrapping the other under her back as she rests her head on his shoulder.

            Then they enter the building.

            Judging by what she knows and has heard about him, she’s pretty sure the Joker’s place is an old factory on the outside but totally decked out inside with the latest technological shit. Despite her mind and vision being foggy from exhaustion, she can tell that she’s mostly right about the inside. Outside…no idea. Doesn’t really see it. Inside, though, it’s almost like the strange hybrid baby of an HGTV dreamhouse, a smart house, and an odd thrift shop. Bits and pieces of the technology look about as up to date and expensive as one can get without being Tony while other parts look original to an industrial factory, all the while having little splashes of actually very hip, stylish furniture and decoration scattered around the place. Kinda chaotic but still quite stylish and, if Darcy actually takes the time to really think about, very much matching what she knows about the Joker’s sense of taste.

            Of course, Darcy is only able to get a quick look as she’s carried to wherever it is he’s taking her…which turns out to be the kitchen, a huge, decked out industrial, state of the art kitchen. He sets her down on a stool at a huge, concrete island. Then he’s digging through the freezer. Huh? Oh, yeah! Ice cream! How could she have forgotten? After coming out with multiple cartons of ice cream, he grabs two spoons and heads over to her. She chooses a carton of trusty old cookies ‘n’ cream while he goes for good ole’ peanut butter fudge swirl. Once she’s got her spoon, she’s about to dig in with gusto but he stops her, spoon only about two inches away from her awaiting mouth. Through her foggy state, she tries her best to glare at him with as much distaste as she can muster, which apparently isn’t all that much if his returned smirk is anything to go by.

            “Sorry, sweets, but we gotta get you some stuff for your face before I can let ya eat that ice cream,” he purrs, petting a finger down her face. She pouts but sets the spoon down.

            The next moment, Johnny, the good (well, you know, relative) man, walks in with a bottle of pills, a few washcloths, and her stuff. He hands the pills and her stuff to the Joker then heads over to the sink to wet the cloths. The Joker puts her stuff on the counter and spills a couple pills into his hand then hands them to her along with a glass of water…that must have appeared when she wasn’t paying attention or something. Eh, she’s not really all there and awake right now and just wants her ice cream, so no one can blame her for not being 1000% aware of everything going on around her. She accepts the glass and pills easily, popping the latter into her mouth and washing it down with a swig of the former. Should she be at least the slightest bit worried that he’s trying to poison her? Sure, but, eh, the same logic applies with this as it does with her whole not really caring that she’s showing “weakness” in front of him. If the dude wanted to harm her, he’d totally have done it already and most definitely wouldn’t be offering her ice cream. Plus, Johnny is back in front of her, the cloths in his hand now wet with warm liquid. After getting the approval from the Joker (really, though, shouldn’t he be asking her?), he begins to dab it on her face, washing it free of any nasty stuff on it. When he pulls it back, she spots splashes of red and hazily, distractedly wonders whether the blood is hers or some random ass goon’s. Really, though, she doesn’t really care or remember. She’s just kinda glad it’s coming off her.

            Once her face has been clean, she scoops up her spoon, piles it high with her ice cream, and, watching the Joker with a glare that is most likely not threatening in the very least, daring him to stop her, shoves it straight into her mouth. She doesn’t even try to hold back the sluggish moan of delight at the taste of the sugary goodness melting on her tongue. In the back of her conscious, she registers Johnny leaving with the sullied washcloths as the Joker plops down on a stool next to her, starting to devour a carton of ice cream of his own.

            For a while, the only sounds between the two of them are the air vent, the hum of appliances, and the consuming of their frozen treats as Darcy processes life and lets the medicine work its magic, which it really is, cause the pain has definitely gone down, and her companion…thinks about whatever it is people like him think about. Yep, Darcy and the Joker sitting alone is a kitchen, just eating ice cream together after she’s been rescued from a hydra kidnapping by him. _Nothing_ weird or unusual going on here. It’s _all_ perfectly normal! Really. Honest to Loki, though, _how is this her life now?_

            “Okay,” she starts when she can’t take it and just has to speak about something to fill this strange, awkward silence. They are _nowhere_ near the level of familiarity at this stage in their relationship (whatever the hell that may be) where silence is comfortable between them. “Just what should I call you? I can’t keep calling you ‘the Joker’ in my head. It’s annoying. Can I call you Jay? I like Jay. I’m gonna call you Jay now.”

            A feral grin splits his red-stained lips. “Why of course, you can, honeycheeks! ‘The Joker’ is just so…impersonal and formal and what people who don’t know me, like the press, call me. We’re just so much closer, so much _more_ than that by miles, aren’t we, dollface?” he purrs.

            _They are? Since when? And just what is he implying or suggesting with that little “_ more?” He’s abducted her once and rescued her once as of today…okay. Sure, they’re more like acquaintances by now, Darcy can at least agree to giving him that. “More” than that, though? He must be crazy…oh, wait…he actually really is the clinical definition of it, like if she were to look up crazy in a dictionary, there’d be his face.

            “Coolsies, you’re totally Jay now,” she decides to say after a moment’s deliberation.

            “Yay! Bestie nicknames! My turn now! You’re…hmm… it can’t be something I can call anyone else or something others call you,” he pouts as he thinks his choices over. _Good luck with that, buddy_ , she thinks but restrains from voicing. _I’ve been called so many different things, I doubt you’ll be able to find something special._

            “I don’t know, Jay-man, I don’t really mind your every-changing nicknames for me. They’re kinda fun.” Really, they are. Plus, she likes her life too much to protest to them, and they really aren’t half bad. She’s been called way worse.

            “Okay, jester queenie…oh! Queenie! I like it!” _Huh, well, what do you know. You managed it_ , she sasses mentally, at least she’s like 98% positive that it had only been mental. “After all, every king needs a queen!” He cackles and guffaws wildly between bites of frozen dessert. “Plus, I think kings totally sweep in and save their queens from kidnappings!” Sweet baby Jesus, that man sure is proud of himself.

            “Yeah, actually, about that…how the fuck did you find me before anyone else, and just _how_ did you even know I was abducted in the first place?” Honestly, she should have lead with that. “And I’m pretty sure it’s the princes who rescue the princess or vice versa.” Because, of course, that last sentence is the most relevant part of the conversation.

            “Eh, semantics.” He tries to shrug modestly. Pfft, as if anything about _the_ Joker could be modest. It really is quite a laughable thought. Hydra agents would probably become saints before that ever happened. “As for the second question, I had a detail on you, missy.” _Figures_. It’s not like she expected anything else from him.

            “Not a miss or a missus, just Ms. M-s-period.” She doesn’t even try to stop the correction. It’s a habit that she’s had to pick up after correcting numerous assholes over the years. Again, that last bit was definitely the most important part of what he’s just said. “So, a detail, hmm? Like stalking my every move kind of detail?” Okay, well, as creepy as that may be, that’s not really a new development there. The Avengers and Co.™ have kinda demanded something along that line too. “How in the world did _you_ manage to find me before the others then? That’s the part I don’t get. The detail is the only bit I do.”

            “Eh, I’m good at disrupting signals.” He says it so casually and nonchalantly. Amazed, impressed dread fills her and her blood runs a tad colder in her veins. Amazement that he actually managed to do that to Tony’s systems and dread because of what it actually means.

            “Disrupting signals?” Seriously, he fucked up their tracking system so they wouldn’t find her first. Really quite amazing, if it didn’t mean exactly what she thinks it means. A groan pours from her mouth at the next revelation. “They don’t even know I’ve been kidnapped, do they?”

            “Nope!” He even pops the “p.” Truly, she can’t help the facepalm and rolling of eyes in response.

            “You know, I’d thank you for the rescue, but now I wonder if this counts as another kidnapping too. If so, you totally have to sign my Card.” She pokes her spoon at him.

            “You came willingly, so I don’t really think this counts as a kidnapping, but ‘course I’ll sign it for you, sweets,” he says with ease. Yeah, sure it can count. May as well.

            “So, if they don’t know I’ve been taken, then what do they think I’ve been doing for the last…is it a few hours now?” She arches an eyebrow as she shoves a spoonful of ice cream into her mouth.

            “Whatever it is you said you were gonna do, probably.” Of course, they do, her poor team.

            “Not that I’m ungrateful for all the rescuing, or maybe it’s kidnapping now…this whatever, because really, I am, but why’d you even come after me in the first place? You haven’t answered me on that one yet.” And now she’s going to blame her less than stellar state on this repeating thing going on. When in doubt, blame the drugs.

            “I told you, Queenie, I like ya!” He doesn’t say more than that as if that’s somehow magically enough explanation for his behavior.

            “Yes, we’ve established that. Your point?”

            “Well, I had my boys keepin’ an eye on you, like I said, Darcy dear! As soon as I heard that those assholes had thought it was a good idea to take you, I came after you! No one touches my stuff without my permission. Apparently, they needed a reminder.” His lips spread in a feral, uncontrolled smile as he growls the last sentence.

            “Woah, buddy slow down there. Okay, firstly, I’m a person, _not_ an object, Jay, and I’m not even really yours to boot. I’m pretty sure I’d remember saying yes to that since I wasn’t even drunk or high at the time, unless you count adrenaline, cause then I could say that I was pumped full of that last time. Secondly, although maybe it should have been first—no, second sounds about right—you have guys on me? Dude, I’ve got the Avengers…yeah, okay, you did manage to temporarily outsmart and mess with them...” It’s really just verbal rambling and word spew and repeating shit now. Seriously, she really needs to work on fixing her brain-to-mouth filter or at least consider investing in getting one. It feels worse than usual today, though…maybe it’s because of that stuff he had her take earlier? Yep, totally going to blame being doped up on whatever drug he gave her. Her words are even getting mumbly with tiredness. “Anyway, why come after me yourself and not let my team take care of it?”

            “I was getting _bored_ , sweetheart,” he drawls dramatically. “Can’t a king miss his queen?”

            “Yeah, sure, if the king actually _had_ a queen. Dude, Jay, I don’t remember us being a thing or even a _Thing_ , and I’m pretty sure that I’d remember _that_!” He shrugs in response as he gathers their stuff, puts the remaining ice cream back in the freezer and dumps the two spoons in the sink. Aw, she was gonna eat that, but oh, well. It’s probably good he’s cutting off her supply…for…some reason that she can’t think of right now.

            She takes a deep, calming breath as she can see that she’s going in circles with him. Fine, fuck it. She’s too damn tired for this. He’s not being dangerous to others with this thought and he _is_ a clinically insane psychopath. If it were pretty much _anyone_ else, she’d push it, but since it _is_ him, she’ll let him think whatever he wants, too damned ready for a nap to give a rat’s ass about arguing with him in this state. Besides, the sane, cautious part of her mind is still slightly scared that he’ll start a killing spree if she pushes too much, and she really doesn’t want that. Is the imbalance unhealthy? Yep, probably most definitely, but he is the Joker, and she’s just glad she’s still alive and pretty much mostly unharmed past what those hydra sickos did to her. Him liking her at all in any sense of that word is pretty much just extra coolsies, like that bonus fry at the bottom of the bag, not expected but so totally a welcomed, lovely surprise.

            “Eh, I must not have asked. Oh, well, at least there’s not a boy to kill!” The way he says it leaves room for an inquiring accusation. As in, if she had someone, he’d have killed them? Okay, again…the drugs are working their way happily through her system and she really doesn’t want to dwell on the topic or poke it with a twelve-foot pole, at least not now.

             “Yeah…lucky that…” Honestly, usually she’s like the queen at rambling and losing focus, but this conversation has totally run away from her post-adrenaline-crash, drugged up mind. Her words are even running together now. “So, tell me, you gonna let my people know that I’m not where they think I am?”

            “Aw, Queenie, I’m hurt!” She really has to call upon the last remaining scraps of her self-control to not freeze in place. Anyone else, she’d take it as s teasing comment. Him? It could most definitely become a thinly veiled, potential death threat. “You trying to get rid of me?”

            “Dude, I am doped up on whatever the fucking hell you gave me, even if it is helping with the pain, mentally and emotionally exhausted, and suffering from the post-adrenaline crash. I want my bed and my fluffy, fuzzy blanket and a nap. I still have some work to do today too! It’s not even an off day today. I have shit to do!”  
            Then she watches as the Joker himself pouts like a fucking kid and actually manages to look _adorable_ while doing it. “Aw, fine. I’ll drop you off at that nice little café by that Tower,” he relents with a sigh.

            Thus, only about an hour later, when the team finally show up all suited up and worry drenching their faces, Jay must have called them to let them know of her whereabouts, they find her sitting at a corner table outside the café, nursing a delicious hot chocolate in a cute little mug that Jay had bought her (like actually fucking paid with _real_ money), one half of her face bruised up, and casually people watching they go by.

            “Oh, hey, guys! Lovely weather we’re having today, isn’t it?”

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all liked it!


	3. Installment 3

A moment passes and then the large, ornate maple doors are opened a fraction to allow the person on the other to peek through the crack. Once they decide she's cool beans, the doors open wide to reveal an older man in a suit smiling brightly. She grins widely at seeing her favorite human butler (huh, since the last time she visited, being a human butler has actually become an option and not a given). "Alfred! It's so good to see you!" she exclaims before she engulfs in a gigantic bear hug.

"Ms. Lewis, how good it is to see you again! It certainly has been quite some time!" he greets, his British accent heavy in his voice. Apparently, the best butlers are British if Jarvis and Alfred are anything to go by. Friday, bless her circuits, is great, but Jarvis still has her beat by a bit.

"It's Darcy, Alfred. We're friends," she reminds him gently. And they are. Ever since she was little, he's been like an uncle to her.

"Of course, Darcy. My apologies," he says.

"Hey, it's all good, Alfred. So, how are you?" she asks as she's ushered into the crazy huge, pretty much overcompensating mansion, pulling her couple of suitcases behind her. Alfred may be Bruce's butler, but he sure as hell is not hers. He's her friend, and she'll be damned if he does shit for her that she is completely capable of doing herself. Being Bruce's butler, the poor dude damn well deserves a break every once in a while, and she's perfectly happy to give it to him.

As he shows her to her rooms, they chat and catch up on each other's lives. She fills him in on all the latest details of her "new" (if around six months can be counted as new still) job as the Avengers Liaison. He tells her all about the recipes he's been trying during his free time and all the adventures he's had as the butler for Bruce Wayne. They laugh and visit just the way old friends do when it's been months since they last saw each other. Somehow, miraculously, she manages to keep the topic of her many, many, lots of kidnappings out of their conversation, which means that Jay is also not brought up aside from Alfred commenting of how troublesome he's been for Batman recently. Darcy gives herself a hearty pat on the back for that. Not the trouble, just the not bringing up her monthly kidnappings.

Once they find her suite (because of course, Bruce couldn't just give his one—and only but favorite—cousin one room, Odin, Thor, and Valkyrie forbid), Alfred leaves her to get settled in and unpacked with a smile. Darcy immediately turns on her relaxing Indie tunes, perfect for unpacking and de-stressing after a day of travel. She may have used Stark transport, but it was still traveling, and Darcy has never been the best when it comes to traveling. After everything has been put into drawers or laid out just the way she likes it, Darcy falls gracelessly face first onto the king-sized, over the top, grandiose, comfortable as hell bed with a sigh of contentment. Listening to the music softly crooning in the background at a low volume, Darcy finds herself lulled into the land of dreams and imagination.

Sometime later, plucked out of a perfectly good dream about a hot man—that absolutely does not look at all like Jay in the slightest, no ma'am—waiting on her every need as she, Nat, Pepper, Jane, Maria, Helen, and Wanda ruled the world, all the while wearing her favorite pair of crystal embedded Ralph and Russo pumps, Darcy is startled awake by the abrupt slamming of doors. She flops like a fish onto her back and jerks into a sitting position and opens her eyes to find that her dearest, soon to be dead cousin, Bruce Wayne, in all of his self-appointed glory has stormed into her suite, and she's really sure that, despite most likely having been too deep in her dream to really notice, he probably, most definitely didn't bother to knock, judging by the enraged look on his face. Cuz cool mad people don't bother to knock, just like in the movies.

"Oi, I'm sleeping here, buddy! Also, knocking  _is_ a fucking thing people do!" she moans as she fully regains consciousness. "What's got your boxers in a twist, Mr. Storm-into-People's-Rooms-without-Warning? Not enough variety in models to choose from?"

"My house," he retorts immediately, apparently choosing to ignore the rest of her questions. Humph, rude.

"Yeah, and you gave me this suite, so my rooms, Brucey," she replies easily. "Besides, you could've just knocked on my bedroom door and then waited in my living room.  _Like a normal person._  Oh, wait, Nat and Clint both do that, and they're definitely not normal, so, let me rephrase that. Ahem,  _like a decent person!_ "

"You wouldn't have gotten up," is the only pathetic explanation he offers. She scowls.

"Urgh, damnit, Darcy!" he growls suddenly. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Darcy Lewis blinks, truly unimpressed.

"Lots of things," she says without any thought or shame. She blinks again and actually processes what he's just asked her. "Woah, hold it right there, cousin. You're not so perfect either! Where do you get off on the crazy train?! What the fuck is this all about? If you're gonna yell at me for shit, I have the right to know exactly which shit you're yelling at me for!"

"What is  _this_?" he hisses as he tosses a small box on the bed in her direction. He stands with his arms crossed over his chest and an "I'm disappointed in you" stance that just doesn't even compete in the same league as Steve's "America is disappointed in you" puppy eyes. She arches an eyebrow, unaffected, and then reaches over and opens the box.

Inside the small box, probably not much bigger than Bruce's hand if she were to compare them, she finds purple wrapping tissue the same shade as Jay's weird crocodile scale coat, already messed up and showing signs of being violently torn apart by someone. No need to guess who; he's standing right there. Under the tissue paper, Darcy finds an absolutely gorgeous silver, delicate bracelet with emeralds inlaid and a tiny, amethyst "J" charm dangling from the chain. She lifts the jewelry out of the box with awe to get a better look at it. The piece truly is stunning and most definitely worth thousands of dollars. Just from the elegance of the charm and the colors of the jewels, she knows just who sent it. Judging by the dark look on Bruce's face, he's come to the same conclusion. However, just in case there's the slightest percent that it's not the person she'd thinking of, she checks inside the box for a note, which she finds easily at the bottom.

**Was robbin' a shop, saw this, and thought we should have bestie bracelets.**

**See ya soon, Sugar!**

**Jay**

The message was scrawled in loopy but scratchy handwriting. Yep, it's official. Darcy Lewis and the Joker have best friend/frenemy/whatever they are bracelets, or at least, she has one from him. As she gets over the oddness of suddenly having a gift from Jay, she vaguely wonders if he got himself something and what it is, or if he wants her to get him something, which she wouldn't know what to get. What  _does_ a girl get for a guy who kidnaps her but then becomes her rescuer and then possibly believes he's her lover? Darcy's pretty sure there isn't a Hallmark card or gift for that.

Staring at the surprising, completely unexpected, but not entirely unwelcome gift, Darcy doesn't try to stop the smile on her lips. He may be a wacknut in need of some serious help and King of Crime, but, damn, Jay so totally knows how to pick out his jewelry. Hmm, maybe next time she has to decide accessories for a fancy schmancy event, she could get him to help? She's pretty sure he'd totally do it. Now, all she has to do is nab his number without anyone (specifically him) getting any weird ideas, even though he is the Joker, so that happens regardless.

"Darcy!" Bruce shouts, rudely interrupting her thought process.

"What? Hmm? Yeah?" she mumbles, eyeing him.

"What the fuck is this?" he demands, gesturing to the new gift. Her gaze darts back to the bracelet and gets a potential idea for if she decides it's necessary to get Jay something. He's always wearing those chain necklace thingies, so maybe something like that? Maybe some expensive lipstick? He seems like the type of person who'd appreciate that. She could get him some of Rihanna's—the goddess—Fenty lipstick. Don't they boast about trying real hard to make sure that everyone has a color that matches their skin tone? Yep, she'll get him that.

"A bracelet, genius," she replies immediately without much more thought. Seriously, her big boy cousin has to have taken such items  _off_  women, or at least seen them wearing them, to know what it is he's currently staring at. He can't be that hopeless, can he? "Hey, where'd you find this anyway?"

Apparently, he doesn't appreciate her mild teasing as much as she does. "Damnit, Darce! I know it's a fucking bracelet," he growls, patience with her obviously wearing thin and clearly exasperated. "Why the hell is the goddamned  _Joker_  of all people gifting you,  _my_  cousin, a bracelet? Alfred found it on a counter in the dining room for fuck's sake!"

She sighs. "Bruce, calm down! Wow, self-important much?" she starts before being interrupted.

"I  _am_  calm, Darcy. This is me being calm," he howls out through clenched teeth. She watched unimpressed as he opens and closes his fists before beginning to pace, angered irritation laced in each step he takes. She elects to ignore him after a moment of observing.

"Nothing good happens when people yell, only more yelling." He doesn't stop pacing at her comment, but he does remain silent as he lets his confused rage out on the flooring, which Darcy takes to mean that he wants her to continue on and explain herself.

"Dude, I don't know! Why does Jay do anything?"

He spins and faces her abruptly. "Jay? You're on nickname-basis with the most notorious villain in Gotham City, the most crime-riddled city in the U.S. and maybe even the world?" He blinks and returns to pacing, still trying to understand even just an iota of the incredulity of the entire situation.

"Yep. Anyways, I mean, sure, we're bros. We're cool, but I never thought he'd ever get me a gift out of the blue like this, especially jewelry, like this—" Bruce stops pacing once again to simply stare at her with a calculating eye.

"Wait, you're 'bros?'  _Why_ did that happen?  _How_  did you two even meet in the first place for this to have ever happened at all? You don't even  _visit_  Gotham City all that often, much less  _live_  in the fucking place!" She stares right back as he arches an eyebrow accusingly. What he's accusing her of, she's not sure nor does she care all that much to find out. "Besides, you may be on the news all the time, but you always manage to keep our relationship close to secret!"

"Eh, there was a mix-up or something, he found those files on me that fucking S.H.I.E.L.D. dropped—and I really do blame S.H.I.E.L.D, not Nat, because the poor thing was stuck between a rock and a hard place, and she chose a different call—and he ended up kidnaping me for one reason or other," she tells him with a casual shrug. "We're totally bros and hoes now though."

"What? He kidnapped you?  _Goddamnit_ , Darcy,  _this_  is why I don't like you working with the Avengers the way you do! It's too dangerous. I should never have let you—"

"Hold it right there,  _Bruce I'm Too Cool to Have a Middle Name Wayne._  You are my cousin, not my brother no matter how close we are, and even if you were, I wouldn't stand for you saying shit like that to me. You don't own me, and you certainly don't just  _let_ me do jackshit  _anything_. I chose to work with my team. You certainly didn't let me. Besides, even if  _I_ decided to stay with you like you've always wanted, who the fuck says living with you is  _any_  safer. You may be a billionaire like Tony, but there's only one of you compared to the whole shebang of them, let alone his Iron Legion," she scoffs. "Leave it, Brucey. It's in the past. It's already happened, and I absolutely do  _not_  want you to run yourself ragged trying to find a way to change it."

He stares at her with a concerned frown. After a few minutes of tense silence between the two relatives with him analyzing her face for something and her not meeting his stare with a bored one of her own, he huffs and lets his arms drop to his side. "Fuck, Darcy, I just want you to be safe. I don't like this. I mean, he knew exactly when you'd fucking be here. Doesn't that scare you at all?"

"Yep, a bit, but I can't really do anything about it. Even if I did try to do something, he'd find out anyway. Plus, it's really no different than the monitoring that you and the others have on me, which is still creepy no matter how you spin the whole 'for your own protection' thing, by the way. Bit of a lost cause, that one. Besides, he may have kidnapped me once, but he's also rescued me multiple times too so that kinda makes up for it. If the bracelet is anything to go by, I don't think he's gonna be trying to kill me anytime soon. Who kills someone right after they give them a fuckawesome gift? No one."

He scowls and huffs again after she's done speaking. Then he reaches into his pocket for something and throws whatever the thing is at her. She catches it with a surprised blink. In her hands is a sticker like thing in the shape of a tiny, curvy leaf. However, as she runs her fingertips over it, she knows it's no ordinary sticker. She rolls her eyes and snorts. "You literally just made my case. Well, at least you have the decency to let me know you're putting a tracker on me," she mutters sarcastically.

"Put it on something you always have with you, like your phone," he orders stubbornly.

Again, she rolls her eyes but nods. "Fine, but only if you promise not to go all unnecessarily overprotective cousin with too much money on me and stalk my every move like I highly suspect you want to, alright?" she acquiesces.

"I won't," he tells her seriously. She mostly believes that he intends to keep his word, but she knows him too well. At least he's not trying to hide the fact that he's tracking her. She just hopes he really won't stalk her every move like a creepy-ass wanker.

"I'm still not okay with this, you know," he deigns to remind her again.

"Yeah, I know, Bruceykins, but there is not a whole lot you can actually do about it. Plus, you don't actually have to be okay with it. I value your advice, but it's still my life and my rules," she says with a wink. Then he leaves the room with a righteous furry, probably to go kill a few punching bags or something like that to let out his toiling emotions.

Bruce finally gone and Darcy now fully awake, she decides to check her phone in case anyone tried to contact her, which she's pretty sure someone has because she had promised to call once she arrived but then fell asleep on the gathering of fluffy clouds Bruce calls a mattress. Surprisingly, there are only ten lengthy voicemails and about forty texts waiting for her from various Avengers and friends. All in all, not too bad. Browsing through them and then replying to people, she is impressed to find that Tony and Clint only threaten a call to an assemble twice, Thor and Vision only threaten to split the world apart in all caps only once, and Steve, Sam, and SCIENCE! Brucey only threaten to start a manhunt for her once. All this while her Boss Babes—Natasha, Maria, Janey, Pepper, Wanda, and Helen—say that if she doesn't show them proof that she's still alive and fine in the next hour, which is actually only a couple minutes now, collectively agree and imply in their own special way that they're going to start a war with the underground of Gotham looking for her. A total win.

After answering every text and solidly reassuring everyone that she's  _totes_  fine and just fell asleep before remembering to call, she decides that her catnap had been enough sleep for now and gets up. Then she decides that she wants liquid in the form of her favorite caffeinated smoothie from her favorite café in Gotham. Gelato infused chai latté smoothie, here she comes!

Alfred ends up volunteering to drive her down the long road into Gotham and then drops her off, as per her request. Left alone in a city she used to know once long ago, she wanders and takes it all in. Despite it being actual years since she last roamed the crime-ridden streets, it hasn't changed enough for her to be lost, so she easily finds her way to Crooked and Cracked, one of the very best cafés she can safely say she's ever visited in her whole life. Staring up at the sign with a fond look, she revels in simply being for a few hours.

Of course, that's when the world goes black.

Well, at least she got to finish the last dredges of her drink! Darcy Lewis, always putting a positive spin on things…like getting kidnapped…again.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 2018! I hope you enjoyed this installment! I'm already working on the next one! Let me know what you think! I love hearing from all of you, even if I don't end up replying to them all. You make my day!


	4. Installment 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter! So soon? Yeah, I'm shocked myself, but hey! Great for you all! Have at it! I hope you enjoy it!  
> This was springboarded from a prompt I got by LostDeviant, so thank you, lovely! I hope you like it!

* * *

 

            “Alright, who is it this time?” she asks, her unimpressed voice muffled by the bag over her head. Well, at least this time she’s on something squishy and soft. Hmm, maybe a squish chair or a mattress? Oh, dear deity in the sky, please do not let there be pee on the cushion thing where she’s sitting. Darcy waits for a few moments before the bag is ripped none too gently off her head. What she finds once her eyes have become used to the sudden light is…weird, really just plain weird. Greenery fills the room. Vines climb the walls and tangle together on the ceiling. Assorted plants in pots all over the floor and some furniture fill the room, giving her the impression that whoever is taking care of the plants is trying really hard to make a jungle appear in their room. She looks down to find that she’s on a nice queen-sized bed that even has green, leafy patterns. Even the canopy of the bed has a tree pattern carved intricately into the wood, although if she studies it closer, she kinda thinks that the canopy is a tree. Any window she finds is large, bringing in lots of natural light, and rimmed with vines too. Basically…it’s like a greenhouse and a forest had a baby, and this is the munchkin baby that came after the forest-greenhouse spawn. Looking around, Darcy can’t help but seriously admire whoever takes care of all the plants in the room, especially given the fact that Darcy’s managed to unintentionally kill a squishy succulent _and_ a cactus, even if they probably kidnapped her.

            “Do ya like it? Ivy’s great with plants!” a giggly, high-pitched voice with a heavy Brooklyn accent asks from somewhere in the room. Darcy whirls her head around in search of the source of the voice and finds a tall, pale as fuck woman with platinum blonde pigtails, tipped with blue on one side and pink on the other, standing excitedly in the corner. It’s Harley Quinn, Jay’s ex. Great! It’s apparently time to meet the ex! “So, you’re Mistah J’s new gal!”

            Darcy just shrugs and tries to smile through the uncertain confusion. “I guess?”

            “Well,” the blonde asks in an expectant tone, laced with demanding layers, “are ya or aren’t ya? Ya don’t sound too certain to me, honey.”

            “I don’t know really. Sure, I guess? I mean, he never really asked me, but all his little cronies seem to think I am. So, maybe?” She adds another shrug to make sure the lady knows that Darcy is clueless herself. “Not to sound rude or anything, Harley—can I call you Harley? —but…why…am…I…here? Also, where is here?”

            Harley just giggles and waves Darcy’s hesitance off with a casual hand. “Mistah J’s neva been very good at askin’ about stuff. Honey, everyone knows you’re his girl. Sure, you can call me Harley! Oh, silly me! You’re in Ivy’s guest room. I’m stayin’ with her, ya see, and she said I could use it. I’m here to make sure you’re worthy of my puddin’.”

            “Oh, cool. Um, so what do you think? Am I worthy or…?” Darcy really doesn’t want to finish that sentence.

            “Well, I like ya! So, I think ya can stay breathin’!” Harley sends her a wink and another giggle. Damn, that was quick and pretty much painless! Yay for breathing!

            “Oh, great! So, can I go now or…do you need something else from me?”

            “Sure, ya can go, Darcy dear!” The bubbly blonde hops over to untie Darcy’s hands. “Ya know, Dee, I was so totally prepared to hate ya, bein’ puddin’s ex and ya bein’ the new girl, kinda like my replacement ya know, but I think I like ya! Hey, I got a swell idea! Let’s have a tea party! Ya wouldn’t mind stayin’ a bit, do ya? It could be fun! Hey, I bet even Ivy’ll even wanna join,” she adds as she does her thing.

            As Darcy shakes her wrists to get the blood flowing through them at a steady rate again, she finds herself nodding. “Sure, sounds like fun! Oh, before you do it though, mind signing my Frequent Kidnapper’s Card? It would mean a lot to me!”

            “Ooh! Well, of course, I will, sweetie! And durin’ the tea party, ya can tell me all about what a Frequent Kidnapper’s Card is! Oh, ya don’t have anything at all to wear for our party! I know, let’s go shoppin’. I know all the best shops for such an occasion!” She claps her hands energetically and bounces on the bed.

            “Um, what kind of tea party are we gonna have? Won’t this be enough?” Darcy glances down at her comfy grey sweater dress and bright galaxy leggings.

            “Oh, no, dear. Of course, you’ll need a dress and some pretty sparkly jewelry too! Oh, maybe even a crown.” Harley looks up in deep thought. “Now, come on. I don’t have anythin’ that’ll fit those excellent girls you’ve got goin’, which means we get to go shoppin’! Eek! I love shoppin’. Hold on a bit, and I’ll grab everything we need.” With that, she bounces off and out of the room to gather whatever it is she thinks they’ll need.

~~*~~

Ten minutes later sees them driving at a breathtaking speed through the streets of Gotham, laughing and messily singing along to newest pesky but oh so catchy pop song on the radio at the top of their lungs, most likely annoying the fuck out of everyone they pass. Darcy loves it. Then they’re pulling up in front of some wildly expensive looking boutique with exquisite evening gowns on display in an array of colors and styles in the windows. Darcy sits in the passenger seat, eyes wide with wonder as she stares at the clothing in the window. Next thing she knows, though, Harley is ushering her out of the car with a bright grin. They enter the boutique without any problem which almost kinda surprises Darcy since Harley is a known criminal and she’s pretty sure the car is parked in a strictly no-parking zone. However, ever since a big blonde dude fell out of a huge death tornado and then she repeatedly almost died for six stupid college credits all those years ago, Darcy’s become less and less surprised by all the weird shit she encounters, so this is less of a surprise and more of an “oh, okay, that’s a thing now.”

            Once inside, Harley latches onto Darcy’s arm and pulls her away over to some corner with a vice grip. “Come on, hun, any dress worth anythin’ in this place is over in the VIP section! I’ll show ya the way.” She’s dragged to a private corner where she finds dresses that have definitely been designed to impress and are also probably the most expensive out of the expensive in the shop. Waiting for them is a tall woman with deep brown hair all rolled up in a twist and a tight smile gracing her lips. “Hello again, Ms. Quinn, who is this?”

            “Hi, Holly!” the blonde at her side chirps happily before she goes and peruses the special rack of gowns with a keen eye. “This is Darcy. She’s my friend now. I totally kidnapped her earlier, but then I signed her Card and now we’re so besties. Ivy will always be first in my heart, though.”

            “ _Darcy,_ you say? As in the Joker’s girl?” Holly inquires. Okay, sure, the name Darcy is not _that_ common, like names such as Emma, Emily, and Jessica (not that there is _anything_ at all wrong with people who have those names, because there really isn’t), but, come on, there have to at least be a few other girls with the same name as her! Why is it being Jay’s girl is the first thing to come to Holly’s mind when she heard her name? Okay, sure, her name has gotten around the media lately with her job working with the Avengers— _that_ would make sense—but to have it directly connected to Jay first? Seriously, he must have been painting it all over town or something like that. Apparently, gangsters and mobsters and the whole underground of Gotham are bigger gossips than the tabloids.

            Darcy doesn’t try to keep from rolling her eyes. Jesus Christ on a cracker, some homicidal wacko rescues you from a kidnapping and suddenly you’re practically married to the guy and everyone knows about the wedding except the bride. Okay, so they’re not married, but she is pretty sure that he is only a few steps away from the proposal…regardless that she never said yes to a date, but whatever, she can roll with it if it keeps her alive. At least she knows who the groom is and doesn’t mind him all that much (ignoring those psychopathic tendencies…heh)!

            “Yeah, I guess that would be me,” Darcy greets after a moment.

            “And _why_ did you think it a good idea to kidnap her?” Holly turns on the blonde, hands on her hips and an unimpressed raised eyebrow. “Harley, baby, we let you in, give you what you want, but if you’re gonna kidnap the Joker’s girl, our doors will close to you. I am not going to support—willingly or otherwise—someone on _his_ shit list and kidnapping her will get you a one-way ticket onto that list,” Holly admonishes. “I’d rather remain breathing with a destroyed dress shop than be dead.”

            “I had to see if she was right for him. Now, Dee, sweetie, do you like the black or the bright purple one?” Harley casually says as she picks her way through the rack of gowns. The black one is a mermaid style beauty with a halter-top. The purple one has an A neckline and has a fit-and-flow fitting that would sway mesmerizingly with each step its wearer takes.  
            “Oh, um, I think the black makes your skin look even paler than a ghost’s, so unless you’re going for that specifically, I’d say the purple. Although I think you should see if they have it in a different shade of purple, cuz that one is really, really bright, unless you’re into that,” Darcy answers easily.

            “Hehe, you’re so funny! It’s not for me! It’s for ya! I’ve got plenty of dresses to wear for the party, but ya don’t.” Then she turns with a crazed smirk to face Holly and Darcy. She holds up the bright purple dress on its hanger and hands it to Darcy before shoving her into the dressing room.

            When Darcy comes out of the dressing room minutes later dressed in the gown, Harley coos and cheers while Holly simply nods approvingly with a tense smile.  Surprisingly, the dress fits her perfectly, even her girls. Darcy doesn’t question how her new “bestie” knew her size so well when she barely knows it herself. (Honestly, the sizing for “female” clothing is so horribly fucked up that Darcy has hated looking for clothes ever since puberty hit her with a bang.) The color also isn’t nearly as horrible as she’d thought it would be on her. She actually kinda really digs the whole bright enough to burn you retinas shade on her. It makes her skin look great! “Yay! I like it! Great! Go back and slip it off so that Holly can bag it before we leave. She’s already alerted Mistah J, so we only have a few moments before he’ll most likely be here guns blazin’. We still have to find some awesome shoes to go with the dress and maybe a necklace. I know just the place. Go on now,” Harley orders.

            Darcy shrugs but does as the woman says. Only a couple minutes later, the pair of girls is tearing down the streets of Gotham yet again, this time in search of shoes and accessories, which they find in the next three shops. By the time they make it back to Ivy’s place, about an hour has passed, and Darcy is actually pretty impressed that Jay hasn’t shown up yet. Another ten minutes later and she’s donning their new “purchases,” including the gaudy and big and sparkly as hell crown that Harley had snatched at the last moment. Apparently, Ivy—yes, Poison Ivy—had been informed of the tea party and had prepared for it while they were gone since she’d been dressed to the nines when they got there. Their introduction had been swift with barely more than Harley chirping “Ivy, Darcy, puddin’s girl. Darcy, Ivy, my best bestie.” They’d waved awkwardly before getting over the complete and utter unexpectedness of the whole situation, and Darcy had been ordered to get dressed.

            Now here they are, a strange, highly unlikely but actually happening trio sitting around a table, decorated to the nines, and enjoying Ivy’s favorite lemon tea with various little cakes. The pale, light green tinted kinda-ex-eco-terrorist, Poison Ivy, is all dolled up in a soft leafy green dress, hair falling down her back in fiery red waves, and small diamonds adorning her neck. Harley has put on a golden dress, gathered her hair at the top of her head in a high-ponytail, and ornamented her wrists with sparkling green bangles. Darcy has found herself in the clothing she and Harley had gotten on their little outing. It’s mostly quiet between the three of them aside from the clinking of the very nice probably-mostly-definitely genuine, authentic China set, random sips, and the sound of nibbling.

            Of course, the very next moment, the peace is shattered when Harley turns on Darcy with a grin and wild, bright eyes like a puppy high on puppy treats. “So, how’d ya meet puddin’?”

            “Same way I met you. Kidnapping,” Darcy tells them. Beside her, Poison Ivy nearly chokes.

            “Harles, honey, I thought you said Darcy wanted to be here. We talked about this!” the redhead pipes in with a scolding expression.

            “I know, Ives, I know, but I just _had_ to meet the girl the underground of Gotham keeps gossiping about. Ya know how I am with gossip!” Jay’s ex-psycho-uglies-bumping-buddy trills over a piece of brownie.

            Then Ivy is facing Darcy with an apologetic expression. “I am so sorry about this. We really have talked about kidnapping people for no reason, but I guess we need to have a few more. I don’t think I said this earlier, but you can call me Ivy if you like or even Pamela. I can have you returned to wherever as soon as you’d like,” she informs her patiently with the tone of a spouse who’s really quite used to their other half pulling weird shit all the time. Basically, she sounds like Pepper when she used to have to watch Tony. Well, now Darcy has an idea of what the CEO of Stark Industries would be like if she decided to turn to the dark side (probably for the cookies if she’s being honest here). 

            “It’s fine really. She’s been my favorite kidnapper ever, and she hasn’t really hurt me at all. Plus, she even signed my Card without a fuss, which is more than I can say for nearly everyone else, and she took me…shopping to make up for it. We’re cool now,” Darcy replies between bites of a fabulous chocolate chip cookie. “Ladies, these cookies are amazeballs. Where can I get more?”

            “Harley made them earlier. I don’t know how she does it since she burns water without actually turning on the stove on a good day, but she can make these without any trouble. Aren’t they tasty?”

            “They sure as hell are! This totally makes up for any kidnapping. If I could marry these cookies, I think I just might,” Darcy moans in delight as she chops down on her plate of them.

            “I can give ya the recipe before ya go, Darcy sweets,” Harles offers.

            “Marry me” is the first thing that comes to her mind, and, of course, the brain-to-mouth filter hasn’t happened yet, so Darcy ends up saying it out loud.

            “Sure! Ivy, what do ya say? Wanna have a triad—” the vivacious supervillain is interrupted by a hard pounding.

            “Harley, open this door! I gotta speak to you!” the irritated, tense growl of Jay’s voice filters in from outside. Harley tenses. It’s barely visible, but Darcy notices anyways.

            Ivy rests one perfectly manicured hand on her girlfriend’s in a comforting gesture. “I’ll get it. You stay here, okay?”

            Harley, who had only moments ago been as cheerful and bubbly as a puppy, takes an annoyed sip of her tea before standing, purpose, and irritation in her eyes. “Nah, I can handle this. Ya stay,” she answers before marching over to the door.

            “Harles, toots, you gonna open this door or do I hafta?” Jays calls.

            “I’m comin’. Don’t ya dare!” Darcy can hear Harley shout back. Then she hears the door torn open. “What do ya want, Mistah Jay? I was havin’ a nice tea party with Ivy!” Darcy can actually imagine the pout curving Harley’s lips at the end of her sentence.

            “I heard… _rumors_ that you got my Darcy-girl. I even heard you were spotted draggin’ the poor thing into that boutique you like, _by the arm_. Wanna explain that?”

            “I was _not_ draggin’ someone into the shop today!”

            “Harley, is my girl here, or isn’t she?” Jay snarls.

            Darcy rolls her eyes and marches over to the bickering pair, swiping two cookies on her way out, to find that Jay has brought his overcompensating entourage. In the front entryway stands Harley, Jay, Jonny, and about five of his big, buff crime minions. “Chill, Jay! I’m fine!” Darcy says to announce her presence. At seeing her, the King of Crime’s face breaks into a huge, overly excited toothy grin. “Darcy, sweet cheeks! There you are!” he greets enthusiastically. Then she’s enveloped in a tight bear hug by a pale trickster (not the extraterrestrial one, though) and given a loud lip-smack on the cheek.

            “Hi, Jay. Dude, we were having a nice tea party when you interrupted us,” she admonishes when he lets her go. “Everything’s fine and dandy, so you can either go now or join us. You’re certainly dressed for the occasion.” And he is with his nice, sleek black suit.

            “Harles, you head on in while I have a talk with dearest Darcy,” Jay replies. With one last shared glance between the ex-lovers, Harley glides out of the room. Then he’s focusing on Darcy with an impressed and highly entertained eyebrow. “You got her to like ya, didn’t you?”

            “Yep. We are totally hoes before beaus now.” Then she actually takes a second to let that sink in her mind before talking again, this time a bit more sporadic and frantic. She flails her arms dramatically. “Well, it’s not like I planned on this happening, Jay. I may have a Frequent Kidnapper’s Card, but that still doesn’t mean I planned on this! No one plans for this type of thing! The damn Card’s just a consolation gift for the fucked up shit that the universe has bestowed on me like an asshole!” she hisses under her breath since she guesses that these walls really don’t mean a thing when it comes to the privacy of conversations being had in this house since she could hear Harley and Jay from the dining room. Plus, there is the entourage of wacko crime minions still there too. She snappishly takes a bite of cookie to emphasize her statement and because of well…cookie. “Besides, it’s not my fault you supers, from _both_ sides might I add, like me so much. Even Ivy likes me, which I am still getting over. Come to think of it, I’m pretty sure they were offering me a triad thingy when you banged on the door.”

            Jay rolls his eyes. “Of course, Ivy likes you. If I like you, then you’re pretty damn likable. Now, about this kidnapping business. Did Harley really kidnap you and did she really grab you and drag you into stores like I’ve been hearing?” he questions, his hands on her shoulders.

            “Yes, to the kidnapping. No, to the dragging me places. I did that on my own accord. It was actually pretty fun. We should go again next time I need to go someplace fancy-schmancy for my job. Harles has got great taste in fashion. Oh, and then you are helping me pick out my jewelry,” Darcy answers with a shrug as she finishes off the second cookie, thinking of the gorgeous bracelet probably still just sitting in its box on her bed in Bruce’s mansion. “Now, Jay, are you staying or going? Those cookies are not going to eat themselves. Harley made ‘em.”

            “You got Harley to make cookies for ya?”

            “Well, not really. She just did it on her own, and now, I’m reaping the benefits!”

            “Darcy, you are incredible, doll. Harley never makes cookies for just anyone.”

            “Cool! I’ll have to thank her a lot, now answer the question already. I want more of them.” Beside them, she can tell that his goons are struggling to keep a straight face as they watch their interactions. “You can have a cookie too.” Now they look like deer in the headlights, causing her to believe that no one ever really remembers that they’re humans too and that they probably realize they’re being pulled into the situation too.

            Jay grumbles but rolls his eyes. “I’ll stay. Sounds kinda fun.” Then he stares at his boys with a hard glint in his eyes. “My gal’s bein’ nice, boys. Don’t expect this to become normal.” They nod quickly.

            She shakes her head in amusement at his words and heads back into the dining room to swipe a plate of cookies for Jay’s minions. When she returns to the entrance way, she distributes at least one baked good to each of them, managing to sneak Johny a second one without anyone else noticing, and receives either verbal thanks or a simple head nod while Jay watches with an impassive expression. Once the pastries have been dispersed, she grabs her villain’s hand and leads him to the table in the dining room where Harley and Ivy are waiting for them. He follows with a smirk, obviously only allowing her to guide him. She slides back into her chair with a satisfied grin and watches as he follows suit in a seat next to hers.

            “There! The goons have been fed, and you’ve figured out that I’m perfectly fine and didn’t really need you to rescue me. All in all, fuck yeah, go me!” Darcy announces to fill the awkward silence that has settled over the group. “Oh, Jay, hand me your phone. I’ve been meaning to get your number recently.”

            “Sure, doll,” he giggles. She feels like she should be surprised that he’s giving it to her so easily, but she’s kinda not. She’s also got a suspicion that it might just be a burner phone. Eh, either way, she’s pretty sure he’ll keep her number even if he gets rid of the phone. “You gonna put me on speed dial?”

            “Sure, if it makes you sleep at night,” she snarks as he hands over a sleek smartphone that looks way too nice to be a burner. She quickly punches in her number and sends a text to herself. Then she takes a ridiculous selfie featuring a cookie and sets it as her contact photo before handing the device back.

            “Oh! Me too! Then we can go shopping again!” Harley squeaks in excitement, the bubbliness returning. She throws over her device, and Darcy repeats the same procedure that she did for Jay’s phone. Then the brunette ends up doing it for Ivy too.

            “Hey, where is my phone?” Darcy asks suddenly when she realizes she really doesn’t know where her beloved technology is.

            “Oh, it’s in the room where ya woke up earlier. Everythin’s still there. I may have kidnapped ya, but I’m no heathen like those hydra assholes. I know how to respect another lady’s things,” Harley chirps.

            “Awesome. I’ll just grab my stuff on my way out,” Darcy tells them, reaching to unashamedly grab yet another cookie.

            And _that_ is how tea parties with Harley Quinn (her Harley bae) and Poison Ivy (her Ivy boo) became a regular thing whenever Darcy (who they take to calling Darcy-dear) is in town.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos, comments, questions, concerns, or just chatting put a crazy silly smile on my lips! (Like, seriously, I'm pretty sure people think I'm a lunatic with how wide my smile gets.)

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you guys think! Honestly, I didn't really think anyone would like this, so if you do, yay! Reviews and Kudos are my life blood. They keep the creative juices flowing!


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